|Early prototype of the blow job machine|
I'm especially sorry to the many many readers who wanted that blow job machine--some of you are my favorite readers of all times! In a fair world, your dick and/or the dick of someone you love would be getting sucked off by an oddly loud and large-sized machine at this very minute. This very minute!
But fear not, I still have more stuff that I'll give away at some point, like a pair of jeweled pasties I can't see ever using ("I'll save these in case there's an earthquake and all my regular clothes are destroyed.")
I also have lots of stuff--sadly, used only one (also: used only once sadly)--which I guess I'm gonna have to send to one of those sex toy recycling places because I don't want to have super embarrassing garbage. First to go is going to be an abusive Sqweel "oral sex massager" I tested which I'm quite fucking sure I'll never press between my legs ever again. The heinous toy was like a windmill of angry chihuahua tongues, striking a delicate body part with a surprising amount of loud whirring fury. I completely agree with Michelle's succinct Amazon review "It horrible."
|We are never ever ever getting back together.|
Also I have to admit that the contest wasn't truly fair. I vetoed anyone who seemed creepy. (If you did win, I suppose you passed that particular test. For now. Although if you didn't win, it does not necessarily follow that you were deemed creepy. I could make a Venn diagram for you on the matter, but lack the graphic design savvy of even a MacPaint-using citizen of 1994). I also unfairly let Trisha, a bad-ass blogger, filmmaker and FOB, win the vintage Hustler due to this entry:
I want the vintage Hustler sooooooo bad. I will both do good orgasm-equality, feminist work with it by SSL reviewing it from cover to cover in a very special IBWMW-won Vintage Hustler Review Series for my blog, and I will also masturbate to it, because that's the kind of person I am.
And as long as I'm confessing, I also would probably have given the cute guy who wrote to me on Facebook pretty much whatever he wanted, but he neglected to ask.
And several of you inquired about my whereabouts lately, a few offering theories. My favorite was that I was off seeing someone, too overcome with ravishment via gorgeous cock, I suppose, to crawl over to the computer and type a few words. The truth is that I've been busy spending whatever writing brain I have on projects that pay better than you, like:
--writing sex position tips for Cosmo
--an oral sex story for Cosmopolitan magazine that's not out yet (super fun, but with the extreme space/word count limits of old-school print, it was kind of like writing some sort of weird BJ-themed haiku.)
--an interview with Jami Rodman, former elite escort and Las Vegas Madam for AlterNet
--stuff for a family magazine, who I won't link to so as not to besmirch them with my sexed-up traffic.
I was also enjoying some abject depression, possibly due to writing things that don't have to do with you and/or the notable absence of work-ruining gorgeous cock ravishment.
PS. Giveaway feel free to report back your findings re: your prize. Even if "it horrible."